


Slow Boil, or How to Seduce an Archeologist

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-13
Updated: 2006-03-13
Packaged: 2019-02-02 07:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Jack tries his hand at a bit of cooking.





	Slow Boil, or How to Seduce an Archeologist

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: Graphic m/m sex. Bad language, as always.  


* * *

Ya know, its funny, but it seems like I've got this rep for not knowing how to cook. It's not true, not at all. Okay, granted I do have a rather well known fondness for pizza, but hey, who doesn't? Even Teal'c loves pizza and he's not even from Earth. Though how anyone can stomach pizza with anchovies **and** pineapple is beyond me... 

But I digress. I admit that I do have a tendency to order carry out and delivery food a lot, but who the hell wants to cook a full three course dinner after a day spent being chased by angry natives or shot at by a squadron of Jaffa or after trudging for hours through mud or quicksand, fer cryin' out loud? And let's not forget the long debrief and the rather...ahem, thorough medical checkup that follow. By the time I finally get cut loose from the mountain, whipping up a gourmet meal is about the last thing on my mind, as you can imagine. 

But the thing is, I do like to cook. I like it a lot, and I'm not just talking about barbequing and grilling and other **manly** culinary pursuits. Nope. I like the real deal, those elaborate meals that are meant to be savored and enjoyed like a really fine single malt. Me, I've always considered cooking to be an art form, at least when its done properly. Any moron with a measuring cup and a timer can follow a recipe in a cookbook, but to do it right you need to be inventive. Creative. Open minded, ya know? 

This is pretty much the key to good cooking, whether in the kitchen or in the bedroom. Really. And no, that isn't a goddamn non sequitur thing. The truth is, seduction is an awful lot like cooking. Ya got your ingredients, ya got your spices, ya got your...implements, and of course, your preparation. Ya don't believe me? Huh. Have you actually ever **read** a cookbook? Yeesh. I mean look at this: "beat it constantly," "knead gently," "drizzle with cream," "lightly coat in oil, "whip until stiff"? Christ. The average cookbook has more double-entendres and sexual subtext than a bad porn movie. If ya ask me, they need to put an NC-17 rating on the Joy of Cooking and stick it in the adults only section of the bookstore. Okay, so maybe that's going a bit too far, but ya see my point, right? To master the fine art of seduction, you need to approach it like a master chef preparing a really pricey meal at a swanky four star restaurant. My technique might never get me in the Michelin Guide, but its always been thoroughly appreciated by the recipient. 

Now, naturally each recipient requires a unique approach. With Kathy, my high school sweetheart, seduction was kinda like baking a cake from a box, ya know? No muss, no fuss. Not much prep time required, but the end result was always satisfying, if a tad predictable. Now with Ginny, my main squeeze in college, it was more like Italian. Lots of bubbling and simmering, lots of tasty ingredients thrown in here and there pretty much in random order, but pretty darn tasty. Oh yeah. Mamma Mia, that was one spicy girl! 

Of course, everything changed with Sara. One technique wouldn't do and it was during my courtship and eventual marriage that I learned to appreciate the fine art of seduction and began to really hone my culinary skills, if ya get my drift. Yeah, I figured you would. It was Sara who taught me the importance of prep work. Fine ingredients, zesty spices, well, they'll only get you so far. Its how you combine them and the way that you cook them that makes all the difference. 

I've had lots of opportunity to put this particular theory into practice since I first hooked up with Daniel. Daniel is...different. Yeah, I know, what a shock. Different is pretty much Daniel's middle name. Well, okay maybe not officially, but it should be. Along with stubborn, ornery, contrary and, let us not forget, snarky. And well, if I'm being completely honest-and for the record, I really, really hate that-you can also add loyal, generous, forthright and hot. Very, very hot. 

I know, I know, I'm ramblin' here, but I haven't really wandered off topic. Ya see, because Daniel is so different, it means that a lot of the tried and true seduction techniques that I developed over the years I was with Sara simply don't apply. And not just because he's a man, though obviously that's a big part of it. I'm fairly certain if I tried to woo Daniel with flowers and jewelry, a method that worked pretty well with Sara, I'd get a raised eyebrow or a withering glare for my trouble. I openly admit I'm a bit of a romantic...okay, okay, a lot of a romantic. Daniel, however, isn't. He's actually pretty pragmatic when it comes to sex and romance. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the odd romantic gesture now and then, its just not the best approach to take with him. It's just a matter of adjustment for the both of us. But hey, what else is new, right? 

It wasn't long after I got together with Daniel that I realized my seduction techniques needed to be, well, revamped to suit the snippy, sulky love of my life. The time had come to throw out the old cookbook and come up with some new recipes. Not that this was exactly a hardship on my part. Pun **so** intended, by the way. There was a lot of experimentation in those early months. It was a hell of a lot of fun, of course. Daniel is a very enthusiastic participant, not to mention damned flexible and possibly double jointed...okay, I guess that would be TMI, right? Anyway, over time, I noticed that some techniques yielded more satisfying results than others and those were the ones I kept. And bit by bit, I built up a new cookbook just for Daniel, one that I like to call 101 Ways to Seduce a Smoking Hot Archeologist. 

Technically, I guess there is really only one recipe since the basic ingredients-him and me--never change, and the final product-an incredible orgasm-is consistently achieved regardless of the method used. Still, I think of them as different recipes all the same. They are classed largely by cooking method. There is, for example, 'pan seared archeologist' which consists basically of me slamming him up against the wall the second he walks in the door and doing everything in my power to charbroil his nerve endings ASAP. Then there is 'twice baked archeologist' in which I fry his brain cells first with a blow job and then follow it up with a nice long fuck. He likes that one a lot, by the way. There is 'stir fried archeologist' which involving bumping and grinding our way across the house, losing articles of clothing along the way. That one is a tad rough on the furnishings, so I never, ever use it at his place, but its still fun. And low in fat. 'Steamed archeologist,' of course, involves him, me and a shower. 'Nuff said. 'Rum soaked archeologist,' is nice too, especially when he gets all giggly and snuggly which he does when he drinks rum, for reasons I can't begin to fathom, but which I enjoy nonetheless. And if all goes as anticipated, it segues very nicely into 'archeologist flambé.' I don't recommend that one for amateurs since, if you're not careful you'll scorch the sheets, but if your not worried about the bed linens, it's a winner. When I feel like indulging my sweet tooth there is always 'hot fudge archeologist' and its variant 'banana split archeologist.' Whipped cream and blindfold, optional, of course. 

But of all the recipes in my book, I have to say that my personal favorite is 'slow boiled archeologist.' It is, without a doubt, the most complicated and time consuming of them all, often requiring days of careful preparation, but trust me when I say that the end result is **so** worth the effort. 

What is so special about 'slow boiled archeologist,' you ask? Well, I'll tell ya because I can guarantee you you'll never, **ever** get to try it out on him for real and if you ever do try, well, let's just say you won't live long enough to get the hell out of Dodge. Got it? Good. 

The recipe itself isn't all that complicated. There are, after all, only two main ingredients. The first ingredient, one careworn, irreverent USAF colonel with bad knees, bad back and worse attitude, well that's pretty easy to find. The second ingredient, the one that really makes it work, well that's a little harder to come by. After all, archeologists-cum-anthropologists-cum-linguists-com pain in the asses don't exactly grow on trees, though there are times when I think my personal little space monkey hasn't yet come out of his. And of course, not just any archeologist-cum-anthropologist-cum-linguist- com pain in the ass will do. Me, I like the exotic type. You know, Egyptian bred, North American raised, academic cultivated. That particular pedigree is crucial if you want to get just the right blend of tough and tender with the hint of saucy the recipe requires. 

Now, before you start the actual cooking process, you first need to do a bit of softening up. This is crucial. You need to tenderize him properly, rub away some of his resistance, let him stew in his own juices for a bit before you can even begin the actual cooking process. To do this, you need to get him off balance and keep him that way so he doesn't catch on that you're about to drop him in that nice shiny pot over there and then turn on the heat. 

Obviously, the longer you leave him to stew, the more...pliant he'll be when the time comes to start the actual cooking. However, you need to be very careful, here. I cannot stress this enough. Too little, and he's likely to catch on to your little scheme right off the bat; too much and he's likely to knock you flat on your ass. And not in that "now that we're horizontal, let's have sex," kinda way either. Remember, you want him unbalanced, not unhinged. 

For this stage of the preparation, the pre-seduction phase or, as I like to call it the "marinating" phase, I like to start off slow and casual. I also prefer to use comfortable surroundings where he feels most at ease and therefore is most likely to let his guard down. His office on base is a good choice for this. Its familiar to him, easily accessible to me and since he spends **way** too much time there, its usually a good bet he will be there when I'm ready to start the marinating. 

Again, the key is slow and casual. To give you an idea of how this works, let me give you an example of a standard session... 

"Hey Dannyboy!" I ask using my most chipper voice, the one I like to use first thing in the morning when we're on a mission and he hasn't had his first pot of coffee yet. I stand in the doorway for a few moments taking in the scene before me, not that there is anything unusual about it. Daniel, as always, is seated hunched over his desk, surrounded by a bunch of books, scribbling furiously on a yellow legal pad and muttering softly to himself. 

Ah, he's busy. Perfect. 

I know, I know, it's a shitty thing to do to him, interrupting him when he's working so hard and giving his all to the SGC, planet Earth and the galaxy at large. At least that's the way he sees it. Me, I recognize that I am performing a necessary public service. I am convinced that if it weren't for my regular interruptions, distractions and diversions that boy would run himself into the ground. In the short term that might not be so bad, but in the long run it would be a disaster. The last thing the SGC needs is a Daniel that has completely burned himself out. I've seen him work himself so hard that he's pretty much running on fumes. Its not good and its certainly not healthy which means I've got the full force of Frasier and all her sharp, pointy needles backing me up. So I'm a bastard. Tell me something I don't know. 

Daniel is so engrossed in whatever he's doing he doesn't even look up, just grunts in vague acknowledgement. I study him a moment longer, seeing the way that frown line in his forehead is creased so deep it almost cuts the forehead in two, and the way he's squinting slightly despite his glasses. This is always a sure sign he's flirting with exhaustion, which makes my interruption doubly advantageous. I force him to take a well needed, and surely well deserved, break and I get to play for a bit. 

I take a couple of steps further into his office and call his name again, this time a tad louder. "Yo, Danny!" 

He jerks up, clearly startled by the sound of my voice, his pen skidding across the pad of paper. He flushes, mildly embarrassed at being taken by surprise. Hey, don't sweat it Danny, I know you were somewhere far, far away. I move towards his desk, my body slightly slouched with my hands stuffed in my pockets, my entire posture screaming casual. Daniel's frowning slightly at me, whether from the headache I'm sure he's starting to get from working too long without a break or from suspicion that my intentions are somewhat less than pure. I'd be offended by that if it weren't absolutely true. 

"Hey, Jack," he responds, rubbing his forehead. Yep, headache. I'll go easy on him then. 

He squints curiously at me. "What's that you got in your mouth?" 

"Tootsie Pop," I reply breezily pulling the lollipop from my mouth. "Grape. Wanna lick?" I ask, extending it in his direction. 

Daniel hates when I play dumb and act like a snotty teenager rather than a highly decorated and extremely competent officer of the USAF. Consequently, it has become requisite behavior for whenever I'm planning on yanking Daniel's chain, which is pretty much my plan right about now. 

Daniel glares at me somewhat reproachfully. Even without opening his mouth I can practically hear the words 'aren't you a little old for lollies, Jack?' I raise an ironic eyebrow in response and I'm sure he can read my unspoken 'be glad its not the yo-yo, Dannyboy.' I toyed with bringing the yo-yo-that pun, incidentally, was not intended-but decided that would probably tip my hand. I just shrug, stick the Tootsie Pop back in my mouth and come over and perch myself on the corner of his desk. 

"Whatcha doin'?" I ask, leaning down to peer at the yellow legal pad that has Daniel's distinctive-and totally illegible--writing scrawled on it, along with one long line of ink caused by the pen skittering across its surface. I pick the pad up, examining it as if I could actually ever hope to decipher Daniel's handwriting when it's shifted into manic mode. 

He reaches over and plucks the pad from my hands and puts it back on the desk. "I'm trying to translate the text from the obelisk SG-12 spotted on their visit to P3X-197," he explains reasonably even as I begin to flick through the digital photos spread across his desk. He reaches over to try to move them away from my prying hands, but I've already moved on, picking up his now discarded pen and twirling it across my knuckles. 

"So, what's it say?" I ask, gesturing towards the photos with my free hand, even as I continue to flip the pen back and forth over my knuckles. 

"Well, I don't know yet," he begins, his eyes tracking the movement of what was, until a minute before, his pen. I've already found my new target, however, my eyes lighting on a coffee stain left by the bottom of his mug on another legal pad. I lean across the desk, nearly sprawling, and with a few deft strokes on my pen, I have transformed the circular coffee stain into a smiley face. I frown, then lean over again, adding a pair of glasses and a halo and scribble his name beneath it. I give him a bright grin and toss the pen back on the desk. Daniel offers me a wary smile, equal parts amusement and worry that his reluctant enjoyment might further encourage my antics. 

Ha, just try and stop me Dannyboy! 

I slip off the desk. "You were saying?" 

"Huh?" 

I gesture with my hand. "You know, language, obelisk, P3 something, something..." 

"Oh, right," he shakes his head slightly in bemusement, trying to regain the thread of his thoughts while keeping both eyes on me, which is pretty much a full time job. 

"Well, the language appears to be a mixture of Akkadian and Japanese, of all things, though the formation of the pictographs is..." 

By this time, I'm at the other side of the desk, picking up some pot or another. I turn it over in my hands, a puzzled expression on my face. I can almost see as well as hear his sigh of exasperation, before he gently, but firmly pulls it from my inquisitive fingers and sets it on a nearby shelf out of reach. At least for now. 

His face is taking on that poor, put upon archeologist expression. You know, the one where he closes his eyes and he gets that little crease between the eyebrows and he has that hint of a pout? That's always a clear sign I've got him on the ropes. 

"Jack." 

"Hmm?" 

"Did you actually want something?" he asks, rubbing the bridge of his nose to relieve the headache that is beginning to build behind his eyes. 

I shrug casually. "Nope, just came by to see how you were doin' is all, " I reply, my fingers flipping lightly across the edges of the pages of one of the books lying open on his desk. 

"Jack," he repeats, and I can hear it in his voice. He's starting to lose his patience. Time to wrap this up for now. 

"Hey, I thought maybe we could do something together this weekend." 

"Like what?" 

I shrugged again. "I dunno. I figured I'd think of something." 

He cocks an eyebrow at that. "And would this something involve, an ice rink, a puck and me freezing my nuts off on a bench in sub freezing temperatures?" 

I give him my most innocent, wide-eyed expression, which per usual, earns me his most suspicious, narrow-eyed glare. 

"Hockey?" I ask in an incredulous voice. "Are you implying that I would take you to a hockey game against your will?" 

"I'm not implying, I'm stating outright, hell yes, you would." 

I raise my hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. No hockey, I promise." 

"Promise?" 

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I intone gravely. 

He's still looking suspicious. Time to set his mind at rest and put this puppy to bed. 

"I promise Daniel. No hockey, no sports, at all. I'll find something that we'll both enjoy, okay?" 

He's wavering, I can see it clearly in his eyes. He wants to trust me, but his gut is telling him to be cautious. Nice to know I'm having such a good influence on him. But in the end, his better nature overcomes his better judgment. Hmmm....we obviously need to work on that. 

"Alright Jack, I'm in. But so help me God, if you drag me to see another curling match..." 

He lets the threat hang in the air between us. He doesn't need to finish it off since my overactive imagination can come up with all kinds of unpleasant punishments from the hands of my inventive and thoroughly vindictive archeologist. It doesn't matter, of course. Sports are the last thing on my mind for Friday night. The Galloping Gourmet is in the house. 

I give him a bright smile and ruffle his hair, which he absolutely loathes, which, of course if why I do it. "Jack," he grouses, but there is a thread of rough affection beneath the complaint that just warms this old man's heart. 

"Okay, Spacemonkey, I'll leave you to your picto-thingies. See ya later, okay?" 

"Sure Jack." 

As I make my way to the door, I pass by his desk and open the top drawer, snagging a half empty bottle of Tylenol. I shake out two capsules, placing them squarely in the center of his desk, then replace the bottle, close the drawer and saunter towards the exit, shoulders slouched, hands in pockets, Tootise Pop in mouth. I don't look back, but I know that if I did, I'd see Daniel gaping behind me, his face shifting between expressions of bewilderment and doting fondness. 

Perfect. 

And **that** is how you marinate a linguist. Just repeat that scene two to three times a day for a couple of days and he'll be so turned around he won't even see you turning on the heating element. 

Once you've got the marinating process under way, you need to select the site for the first stage of cooking. Trust me on this; the proper environment is also essential. I found the perfect one, a lecture on ancient myths and modern culture that some old guy was giving at the university. Daniel was flabbergasted when I suggested we go and the look on his face was priceless. His eyes went wide and he did his beached guppy impression. You know, the one where his mouth makes that perfect "o" and it keeps opening and closing but no sound comes out? Yep, that's the one. Cute as bug's ear when he does that, though it is a tad annoying. You'd think I'd never read a book before the way that boy acts sometimes. 

You see, Daniel is operating under the misconception that I never pay attention to his lectures. Not true. I pay very close attention. The problem is, I am also imagining him standing there naked except for a thin layer of baby oil and, well, sometimes, I lose track of the actual words coming out of his mouth because my brain is fixating on other things coming. So, okay, I can see where he might get the impression that I'm not really paying attention. But on this occasion, I plan to use it to my advantage. 

"Jack, are you really sure you want to attend a lecture mythic archetypes and their manifestation in late twentieth century pop culture?" I remember Daniel asking for about the tenth time, his expression wary, but happily not yet shading into full blown suspicion mode. 

"Sure, I'm real big on Archie-type thingies..." I replied breezily. 

"Archetypes," Daniel corrected me absently. 

"...Me, I've always been kinda partial to Veronica, but I could do Betty in a pinch..." 

I could see that faint little frown line starting to crease his forehead. Whoops. Time to redirect. 

"I know, Daniel, I know. I'm just yanking your chain. Yeesh. Just because I've never seen Star Wars doesn't mean I don't know who Joseph Campbell is." 

Cue beached guppy. 

God, I love messing with his head. That doesn't make me a bad person, does it? 

Nah. 

Now, once you have the two main ingredients in hand (not literally, of course, that's for later) and you have completed the marinating and selected the perfect local for the first stage of cooking, it is time to select the right spices to season the mix. As always, it's a question of just how hot you want the final product to be. Me, I like it hot. Very hot. Sizzling, smoking, mouth burningly, brain cell fryingly hot. If you're going for the extra hot, smoldering version, then you want the right ingredients to ratchet things up a notch or two. In my case, that would be my dress blues, neatly pressed with all my buttons shined to a blinding brightness, my best pair of shades, and for that certain something, a nice dab of Givenchy Gentleman aftershave. Any one of these ingredients on its own has been known to have a gratifying effect upon my Danny. All three of them together are damned nigh devastating. He's just so damned adorable when his eyes glaze over with lust and he gets that little speck of drool on his chin. Its not terribly dignified, of course, and Daniel would be most embarrassed if he ever found out how dopey he looks, but it does my old heart good. 

So just to recap, we have our main ingredient nicely marinated, our secondary ingredient sufficiently spiced up and our cooking venue set in place. The time has now come to begin the actual cooking process. The real key to this, or any other recipe for that matter, is the execution. All the preparation in the world won't do you any good if you screw up the actual cooking. This, of course, is what makes "slow boiled archeologist" such a delicate, but ultimately deeply satisfying dish. It's actually a lot like cooking a lobster when you get down to it. Drop him into a pot of boiling water, he'll just jump right back out and then turn around and snap you on the ass for your trouble. But put him in a pot full of nice, soothing water, or its equivalent--in this case, in a comfortable, non-threatening environment like, say a boring old lecture--and then slowly raise the temperature, you'll have him at the boiling point before he even realizes what you're up to. 

This is why this particular recipe is reserved for the most skilled master chef, like yours truly. The cooking process demands subtlety, deviousness, nerves of steel and a cold shower or two in advance. You need to be able to raise the temperature and the accompanying arousal by slow degrees until the pot boils over and that little lobster is ready to be coated in melted butter and savored for the rest of the night. 

So, how exactly does this work, you ask? Well, that's a good question. It goes a little something like this... 

I whip off my cap and tuck it neatly beneath my arm, before rapping sharply on the door in a series of quick staccato knocks and wait for Daniel to answer the door. I flick a quick glance at my watch and let my lips twitch into a quick smile. 1900 hours sharp. This is the first step, arriving precisely on time. My Danny has many fine qualities, but punctuality has never been one of them. Now, granted over the years he has gotten better about being on times for his official obligations like mission briefings and trips through the gate, but when it comes to unofficial obligations like this, he continues to march to the beat of a different clock. Well, you get the point. 

And sure enough, Daniel's rather slipshod record for punctuality remains intact as he finally opens the door dressed in his bathrobe, his hair still damp from the shower. The words of apology are already tumbling out of his mouth before they come to a screeching halt when he finally takes in my spit and polish appearance. His mouth hangs open for a long moment then snaps shut with an audible clicking of teeth, clearly surprised at the sight of me in my dress blues. Like I said, deviousness is essential to this recipe. I know Daniel has a weakness for me in uniform and I shamelessly use it to my advantage. I can already feel the temperature rising, and its pretty obvious that Daniel can as well if that flush on his cheeks is any indication. 

"Wow," he murmurs, as I close the door firmly behind me. "You look...wow," he finishes, unable to find any more words. We are off to a promising start. 

"So do you," I reply, making no attempt to hide the leer in my voice or my expression. He flushes a bit more. 

"I'll...um...I'll just go..." he explains haltingly, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the bedroom before scurrying off. 

Oh yeah, very promising. 

I meander around the living room a bit, my eyes taking in the familiar objects. It still drives me more than a little nuts that Daniel and I can't simply shack up together in carnal bliss, but there's no use moaning about it. That's reality. "Our reality and our only choice is to like it or lump it, or for me to retire which is pretty much a non-choice as far as we're both concerned. There are some advantages, of course. We both have our own space and the restrictions we have to live with make our time together all that much more precious. And it also comes in pretty handy at times like these when I'm playing a bit with my little Spacemonkey's head. Speaking of... 

I hear footfalls coming my way so I turn and get an eyeful of delectable archeologist. Seems like I'm not the only one who's been dabbling around in the spice rack. He's wearing that nice charcoal gray suit of his and the smoky blue shirt and the Italian silk tie that Carter bought for him last Christmas. She never said the words "they bring out your eyes," which would, of course, have elicited baleful glares from the aforementioned delectable archeologist, but it was obvious that was what motivated the selection. And since I don't have a death wish, I've never said the words either. I just sit back and enjoy. 

I give Daniel a warm smile and move closer. He no doubt thinks I'm going to kiss him. I can see it in his eyes and the way his lips part ever so slightly. I reach my hand towards him, as if to cradle his cheek but shift direction at the last minute, moving instead to pull his collar down neatly over the tie. I can almost feel his disappointment and it is tempting to give him a compensatory smooch, but I hold firm. Sorry Danny, I'm a man with a plan here and I'm sticking to it. 

I smile again and murmur an admiring "nice" in my huskiest voice before leaning in again. This time, I reach over to dust off some imaginary lint from his shoulder, letting him get a nice whiff of my cologne while I cop a sniff of him. Mmm...Ralph Lauren. Good choice. I let my hand linger just a little longer, feeling the warmth of his body through the jacket and the shirt beneath and I hold his gaze watching as his eyes darken with palpable lust. Just as I think he's about to lean in and kiss me, I pull away and pick my cap off the back of the sofa where I tossed it just after my arrival. 

"Ready?" I ask brightly watching as disappointment and thwarted lust start to shade into suspicion. "We better get a move on if we don't want to be late." 

"No, we wouldn't want that," he agreed somewhat reluctantly. 

Thus begins our evening together. For the next couple of hours I play a sneaky game of tag with him, treating him to a barrage of touches, some light and fleeting some lingering. Sometimes it's a gently guiding hand in the small of his back, or a brush of fingertips across the back of his wrist. Sometimes it's a pat on the shoulder or a hand on his bicep or the brush of my thigh against his. They're all innocuous and seemingly casual and accidental gestures given that they were being carried out in public, but they have the desired cumulative effect of winding Daniel up but good. And even more annoying, no doubt, is the way I always managed to neatly thwart each and every attempt on his part to reciprocate. Somehow I always managed to take a step to the side or turn to look at someone else every time he made a comparable foray into my territory. I was slowly but surely driving him nuts which was exactly my plan. 

The lecture hall at the university was already pretty full by the time we arrived. The audience was a disparate group. Lots of students- big surprise-but also a fair number of older people and a smattering of the blue haired lady crowd, too, so we didn't look to far out of place. I ushered Daniel to a couple of seats near the back. We had just gotten settled when some dean or something steeped up the podium to announce the lecturer. He yammered on for a bit about Dr. Whatever- his-name was who got his degree from some university someplace, and had written a couple of books on this, a couple of books on that. Yadda. I'm willing to bet Danny could kick his over educated ass on any topic of this guy's choosing without even breaking a sweat. Hmm...now there's an idea: Academic Deathmatch. I bet they could sell some serious tickets to that... 

Okay, O'Neill stay focused. Everybody's applauding and some new guy is stepping up to the plate. Holy Cow! How many tweeds did they kill to make that suit? Geez, this guy makes pre-Abydos Daniel look like a cover model for GQ. As opposed to current Daniel who looks like a centerfold for Playgirl, of course. Not that anyone else will **ever** have the opportunity to confirm that fact for themselves, by the way. 

I lean over to Daniel to whisper in his ear, letting my breath tickle against that sensitive spot just below his left earlobe. "Nice suit, he's got there," I observe wryly, under the cover of the applause. I let another puff of warm breath caress his nape and I'm rewarded by the tremor that races through his body for a brief moment before leaning back into my seat. 

Let the games begin. 

Dr. Tweed has begun his lecture, his voice slow and monotone and heavily accented though I can't place it. Despite all my travels, I've never been that good with accents. I mean after all, I thought Nick Ballard had an Eastern European accent, but Daniel assured me that that side of the family was Dutch. Go figure. I'm not really listening all that closely. I'm far more interested in watching Daniel. One-track mind? Yeahsureyabetcha. Daniel is wearing his rapt, "this is incredibly fascinating" expression. Although I have nothing against said expression, I prefer it when it's directed at my naked and oh so willing body. 

Time to raise the temperature a notch. 

I shift my legs slightly, bringing our thighs into alignment and let them rub together before shifting them back to their original position. I keep my eyes forward but I know Daniel has flicked his gaze in my direction. I remain riveted in place until I feel Daniel is engrossed once more before repeating the action, again moving away before he can catch me at it. His head whips around and his eyes are burning into the side of my head, but I don't flinch. What can I say? I'm a professional, so don't try this at home kids. I again wait until he's returned his attention to the lecture before pulling the move for the third time. This time I wait until he's in full glare mode before turning casually to glance his way and give him my sweetest, brightest smile. I see his baleful expression falter and doubt flicker in his eyes just as I turn my attention to the lecturer once again. 

Damn but I'm good. 

The guy is prattling on now about Jung and Trickster figures and the role of Shamanism now. Oh no. He didn't. Yes, he did. Oh I **so** can't let that pass without comment. I lean in close again, so close my lips are practically touching his earlobe. 

"The Great Shaman Doh, Daniel? I had no idea The Simpsons would be making an appearance, here. But c'mon, surely Bart is the great trickster in that little domain. Or at least Sideshow Bob." 

He shivers again and looks at me with a mixture of lust, surprise and annoyance on his face. Cool. Look ma, I'm multitasking here. Oh yeah, this is fun. 

And then the lights are dimmed. Ooh! The slide show portion of the lecture! Well, this just opens up all kinds of possibilities, now doesn't it? In the relative obscurity of the room I can still make out Daniel's frame leaning forward slightly in his seat, his profile edged in the faint light from the screen. I let my hand rest lightly on the knee closest to mine. Daniel snaps upright at the contact and I put on my best contrite expression. 

"Sorry, Daniel," I whisper to him. "I didn't realize that was you." 

Even though I can't see his face, there's no mistaking the slight relaxation in his posture. 

Sucker. 

After a few moments I try a new tactic. With the stealth I learned in Special Ops, I carefully toe my right foot out of my shoe and then proceed to run my stockinged foot along his ankle and up his calf. He hisses in surprise and annoyance and I let my foot drop back to the floor, leaving his ankle safe from further molestation. For now. 

Once he's turned back to the screen, I pick a new target for my patented brand of mayhem and temperature raising. I let my hand slip back onto this leg, this time a little closer to the money, shall we say, and let it slide down along the inside of his thigh. This earns me a strangled sound somewhere between a moan and a sob. I remove my hand. 

"Shh!" I warn him before turning my attention back to the droning lecture. Even in the dark and facing in a different direction, I can feel his outraged eyes upon me. 

Just when he thinks its safe to wade back into the lecture, I move my cap from my lap and strategically place it on his, using it as a convenient cover for my next maneuver as I slide my hand underneath and trail one fingertip along the increasing bulge in his trousers. 

"Jack," he manages to say, the word half threat, half entreaty. Although he's trying to keep his voice low, it's loud enough to earn him a chorus of shushing sounds from nearby audience members. Needless to say, that is the last straw. Not only is he now horny as hell he has just been rude in public. 

I lean in again, this time letting my tongue flicker briefly in his ear before saying, "Are you ready to blow this Popsicle stand?" 

I can feel his head bobbing next to my lips and that's all the affirmation I need. I stand up and move unerringly to the exit, certain that he is following behind. We make our way out of the building and into the cool, evening air. April has been unusually pleasant this year and promises an exceptionally fine Spring. I do so love Spring. I have to remember to plant my hydrangeas soon. So, I like hydrangeas. You got a problem with that? I thought not. 

We walk over to my car in silence and I can't help but notice that Daniel refuses to make eye contact. He is **so** pissed with me. Perfect. 

Houston, we have reached boiling point. Prepare for some major pyrotechnical action of the NC-17 variety. 

I drive us back to my place as quickly as possible, speeding along the back roads with the ease of long practice. I focus every iota of attention on driving because I know if I even look at Daniel my head might explode. I know what's coming and it is going to be **good**. No words are exchanged during the course of the trip. No gazes, no touches just a car full of seething passion and enough testosterone to make Arnold Schwarzenegger quiver in awe. 

I have barely stepped foot inside the house when suddenly my body is being turned and then slammed against the heavy wooden door, the force of the impact driving the breath from my lungs. I gulp air trying to breath once more even as I feel a body pressed against the length of my own in the darkness. 

"You son of a bitch!" Daniel snarls, his voice low with fury. "You goddamned sneaky, manipulative, underhanded piece of shit! You set me up! You got all dressed up in your spiffy dress blues and took me out so you could spend the entire night winding me up in public 'cos you knew there was no way in hell I could do anything about it!" 

He leans in closer and I can feel compact muscle pressing against me, crushing me inexorably against the unyielding door at my back. I can feel his breath, soft and warm against the side of my face and smell his cologne mixed with the earthier scents of sweat and growing arousal. And best of all, I can feel his cock rammed against my hip, leaving no doubt that despite his harsh words he is enjoying this little game as much as I am. 

"Well, guess what, Jack? We're not in public anymore." 

He insinuates a knee between my legs, bringing out cocks more fully into alignment and then slowly begins to rock his hips against mine in a hypnotic, teasing rhythm. I feel him rubbing against me and I moan at the sensation racing through me. Oh yeah, this is good. No, better than good. It's fucking fantastic. 

"Do you like this, Jack?" Daniel purrs into my ear, nipping at the lobe with sharp, even teeth, his moist breath teasing the hair at my nape. "Is this what you want?" 

"Daniel," I moan in response. I want to say more, but right now my brain cells are pretty much fried. Hmm. I thought **I** was the chef here? Well, if Daniel wants to stir the pot a bit, well, it would be selfish of me not to let him, right? 

No sooner had that thought passed through my brain, then suddenly the warmth and hardness of Daniel's body was gone. I nearly stumbled forward at the unexpected loss. I heard Daniel chuckle in the darkness, a rich, throaty sound. 

"Oh, no, Jack. You're not getting off that easily. And I do mean that literally. You want to get off, you do it on my terms. This is non- negotiable, flyboy." 

He's laid his hand against my chest, pinning me in place and I can feel it burning through my uniform, searing my skin. I wouldn't have been surprised if his touch had actually melted my jacket buttons to slag. 

"Well?" he asks. "It's your call, Jack. Me or your right hand." 

"You," I manage to choke out. Huh. Was that croaking sound me? Apparently. 

"Good answer," he praises and suddenly Daniel is standing close once again, his hand wrapped around my tie, pulling me into a fierce kiss. 

"Bedroom. Now," he commanded. 

Oooh. Masterful Daniel. Hit me, baby. 

I follow meekly as Daniel leads me through the darkened house to the bedroom using my tie as a leash. It's a short trek but it still takes way to long. My dick is painfully hard, throbbing with every beat of my heart and every step I take and any other cliché ya wanna throw into the mix. God, I want him and I have no doubts whatsoever that he feels precisely the same way about me. 

When we finally enter the bedroom Daniel shifts direction quickly to turn on the bedside lamp and then with a speed and strength that takes me by surprise, despite having been on the receiving end just a few minutes before, he slams me up against the bedroom wall. He crushes his body against mine and kisses me with such intensity I'm not sure whether he is trying to suck my lungs out through my mouth or climb inside me. I have no doubt that I'm gonna have a few bruises on my back come tomorrow, but frankly I don't give a rat's ass. If Daniel keeps on kissing me like this, he'll not only succeed in frying all my remaining brain cells but also in short circuiting all my nerve endings. By the time he is done with me I have no doubt I'll be feeling **no** pain. 

I try to wrap my arms around him and bring him even closer but my wrists are grabbed and then pinned tightly on either side of my head. 

"Oh no, colonel mine," Daniel says in that wonderfully husky voice of his that I have privately dubbed his bedroom voice. "My rules remember? And right now the rulebook says no touching. You've been touching and teasing me all night long without letting me reciprocate. It's my turn now." 

And with that he dives in for another oxygen depriving lip lock. I just lie back and let Dannyboy have his wicked way with me. See, this is what I was hoping for. I love it when Daniel completely loses control like this and turns into this amazing, no holds barred sex machine, all need and fire. It's not that Daniel is passive in bed. Oh no, far from it. He's energetic and enthusiastic and very, very inventive. But he also has a tendency to think too much at times. Hence, the goal of this whole recipe. Wind him up and get him so hot and bothered he can barely remember his own name and then let him go and watch him act of pure instinct. I especially love it when he gets all authoritative and commanding like he is now. 

I feel his body moving against mine, hard and lean, all muscle and wiry strength. The air is thick with the scent of arousal and I can feel the sweat beginning to form on my skin, creating damp patches on my shirt. I'm thinking that maybe its time to start moving on to the clothing-free portion of the recipe which traditionally leads to the volcanic orgasm that signals the end of this particular dish. Of course, with any luck this will only be an appetizer for a long and satisfying multi-course meal. 

And look, maybe I've finally gotten a hang of that whole conversing telepathically with Daniel thing 'cos he's unglued his body from mine and has started unbuckling my belt, his long, clever fingers nimbly slipping the leather tongue from the buckle, and then he is unzipping my pants slowly. Oh God, so slowly. I can practically feel the teeth of the zipper against my cock as he releases me centimeter by agonizing centimeter. I reach towards him to return the favor and he slaps my wrist. 

Ow! 

"Ow!" 

He wags his finger in my face and he sternly reminds me. "None of that. My rules, remember? You can like it or wank it." 

I can't stop the amused snort that escapes me at that last remark. "I'm all yours Daniel." 'Always have been, always will be.' 

Once he's satisfied that I'm going to behave myself, he drops to his knees before me, sliding my trousers and cotton boxers down with him to puddle around my ankles. He rests his hands lightly on my hips, his touch almost unbearably hot on my cool skin. He lets his hands roam, moving in long, gentle strokes down my flanks, across my belly, up beneath my shirt back and forth along my chest. His fingers ghost over my ribcage before sliding down to trace the sharp protrusion of my pelvis before coming to rest on my hips once more. He leans in then and nuzzles the fuzzy curls al my groin, letting them rasp across his cheek as he buries his nose there and drinks in the scent of my arousal. 

He gazes up at me then and gives me a look that could strip paint or maybe melt a polar ice cap or two. His eyes are dark with lust and there is a wicked gleam there promising all kinds of mischief. The smile that accompanies that scorching look is no better. The only word that comes even close to describing it is filthy. **Very** filthy. All I can say to anybody who thinks that Daniel is a shy retiring virginal type is that they have missed this one by a mile. He beams at me a moment longer, letting me feel the full effect of that lecherous, wanton smile before he leans down and slowly drags his tongue along the length of my cock from the base all the way to the tip. I gasp at the sensation as he continues his exploration, swirling that talented tongue around the head of my dick, lapping delicately at the pre-come beading at the tip before delving into the slit for more. 

Just when I'm ready to start begging for more, he quickly swallows me to the root. I nearly cry out as I feel my length engulfed in wet, wonderful heat. 

Jesus Christ! 

If I thought Daniel was going to finish me off quickly, I was wrong. Oh boy, was I ever! Daniel had clearly decided to exact a little payback, the devious little shit, and he was going to make me wait. He sucks me off slowly, using long, deep pulls interspersed with shorter sucks for a bit of variety. Every time I start nearing orgasm, however, he pulls back just long enough to bank the fire a bit before diving back in again to start the exquisite torture anew. 

Have I mentioned that Daniel is evil? Oh, and how much I love this guy? 

Finally, Daniel must have decided I'd had enough and he'd take pity on his saggy old colonel. He begins to go at it with a vengeance, shifting into a fast, no nonsense rhythm that had me seeing stars even before I came explosively in his mouth. By the time he finishes drinking me down I'm gasping for air and I'm pretty sure that my head had spun all the way around like that chick in the Exorcist movie. If ever they hold the sex Olympics, I have no doubt my Danny would take home the gold in the blowjob category, Of course, if I were on the jury, I'd award him the gold across the boards. What can I say? I know true quality when it comes to orgasms. 

I look down to see my Spacemonkey wearing his most smug, most satisfied, most lascivious grin. He catches my eyes and then, very deliberately, licks his lips and gives an appreciative "mmm." He holds my gaze a few heartbeats longer and then stands up and gives me a searing kiss, our tongues twisting and sliding together as I taste myself in his mouth. When finally he releases me, I'm gasping anew. Hmm...it's a good thing all my blood cells headed south; at least down there they were saved from the threat of extreme oxygen deprivation. If lack of oxygen **did** cause brain damage, then at least the important bits were safe from harm. 

Daniel steps away from me and begins to undress himself, using the same kind of lazy movements he'd used while sucking me off. Mmm...Danny skin, I **so** love this part. Hey is it just him, or is it getting hot in here? I reach up to begin to loosen my tie and for the second time I get it slapped. Hard. 

Sonuvabitch! 

"Daniel!" I yowl, trying to sound wounded. 

He cocks an eyebrow in my direction. "What did I say about touching?" 

I scowl at him. 

He stares back, arms crossed over his now bare chest. 

"No touching," I mumble out finally after the silence drags out. 

He smiles. "That's right. And that includes yourself **and** your clothing," he explains. "Besides," he drawls, "I rather like you just as you are, Colonel O'Neill." 

I can't help but shiver at that remark and the throaty purr he's speaking in. I knew he liked me in my dress blues, but I had **no** idea that fucking me in them was a bit of a personal kink. 

Cool. 

"Whatever you want, Daniel," I acquiesce meekly. Uh oh. Maybe **too** meekly. His eyes narrow and he studies me suspiciously for a moment before giving a short nod. 

"On the bed, Colonel," he commands. 

Always one to follow orders, well, at least the ones I thoroughly approve of, I make like a bunny and hop on the bed and sprawl wantonly across it, ignoring the odd sensation of being fully dressed up top and fully naked down below. It's strange, feeling the slight dampness of my sweat stained shirt along my back and the cool, smooth texture of the comforter under my ass and my legs. I have no doubt I'll get over it though, once the action starts. 

I turn my head to look at Daniel and watch as he slowly sheds the remainder of his clothing. And then slinks-slinks!-over to the side of the bed and gazes down at me possessively. 

"On your stomach, Colonel," he snaps out in a tone that would make any drill sergeant proud. I comply without hesitation and await Daniel's next move. I have no doubt it will be a good one. I feel the bed dip next to me from the weight of his body and then feel his hands spreading my legs and the mattress shifting once more as he moves and settles himself between them. I feel his fingers on my ass, his thumbs pulling my cheeks apart and I hold my breath in anticipation. 

And then I feel it. A warm wetness trailing down my cleft from the small of my back all the way down to my balls. My hips snap upward at the sensation and I have to fight to hold still when I realize what Daniel is doing. He's rimming me to beat the band. Oh momma. 

The first time he did this it was a hell of a surprise, not only because he was sticking his tongue someplace where I wouldn't have expected he would **want** to stick his tongue **ever** , but because it felt so fucking good. I had **no** idea that having a tongue up my ass would make me hard and could make me come all by itself, but there you go. And Daniel is so incredible at it. He likes to slide his tongue up and down the crack like he is now, letting it slide down and flicker across my balls. Sometimes he'll raise my hips and move underneath and take them in his mouth...yep, just like he's doing now. And then he'll eventually make his way in his own goddamned sweet time, to ground zero, teasing at the entrance to my anus before slipping inside. He starts to tongue fuck me, flickering in and out in a light, taunting rhythm that drives me crazy. I hear a moan which by process of elimination had to have come from me 'cos Daniel's kinda occupied at the moment. 

When he moves away I groan at the loss. I also discover that I am rock hard once again. No real surprise there, but still, it makes me proud that even though I am now officially on the wrong side of forty- five, I can still get this hard this fast. And while I know it is due largely to that electric current to the groin known as Dr. Daniel Jackson, I also like to think it has something to do with my own equipment. I might be getting older and grayer, but fortunately no one has ever passed that information along to my dick, for which I am **so** grateful. 

I feel a sudden slap to my ass, not hard, but still it takes me by surprise and I yelp-yelp, fer cryin' out loud! Could I embarrass myself any more here?-and I feel Daniel lean over me and breath into my ear. 

"Time to turn over, Colonel." The sharp demanding tone of before has been replaced by that sultry, honeyed purr I like so much. Even without the sharpness, I comply immediately. After all, a good soldier always obeys orders, right? 

I settle on to my back once more and gaze up into a flushed face and smoky, lust dazed eyes. Oh yeah. This is gonna be **so** good. He leans down and kisses me long and deep, our tongues tangling and diving and tasting one another. His hands slide up and his fingers card through my hair, pulling me in closer, deepening the already fervent kiss as his legs twine around my own, his feet rubbing gently along my ankles and calves. 

And then with a suddenness that takes me by surprise, he flips us over as neatly as you please. Now Daniel is lying on his back beneath me, his arms and legs wrapped about me in a full body hug while he tries to remove my tonsils with his tongue. I don't have the heart to tell him it was a waste of time, since I'd had them removed when I was eleven. If he has his heart set on a little exploratory oral surgery, well I'm not about to spoil his fun. 

He finally releases me and I collapse on top of him in spite of myself. Daniel stretches, looking like a cat waking from a nap. He lets one hand slip under the pillow beneath his head to extract the tube of lube we normally keep stashed there. He gazes up at me with those hooded eyes and his best Mona Lisa smile as he extends the lube in my direction. 

"Prepare yourself for me, Colonel." 

OK, I know my eyes had to have bugged out at that. **This** was new. Although I admit to having a bit of a voyeur kink, I had no idea that Daniel got off on watching too. My, this evening was turning out to be just full of revelations, wasn't it? I took the lube from his grasp as I rose into a kneeling position. With my free hand, I snap him a jaunty salute. 

"Yessir, Dr. Jackson **sir**!" 

He smiles at that, the skin around his eyes crinkling in amusement as I lean back on my heels and consider how best to do this. While I could certainly turn around and give Danny a fine view of the O'Neill moon rising, I know that wasn't really what he wants to see. He wants to watch as I prepare myself for him, he wants to see the pleasure on my face and know how much I want this, want him. I smile again as I flip the lid off the tube and squirt a generous dollop into my palm, letting it warm a bit before coating one finger. I caught Daniel's smoldering gaze and maintaining eye contact the entire time, I reach behind myself and slowly and carefully open myself up for him. 

Daniel's eyes are dark now, his pupils dilated, his breath ragged as I slip a second and then a third finger inside. I moan softly as I graze the happy button and my eyes flicker closed for a moment until I snap them wide open again. Daniel wants to watch me and I want to watch him in return. His lips are parted now and soft gasping breaths are escaping as he tries desperately to maintain control of himself and not shoot his load before we get to the main event. It's nice to know I'm the only one having to fight that particular battle. 

Finally when I'd stretched myself enough, I reach around to the front and gently lube Daniel's dick, moving both hands along the shaft in long, slow strokes, enjoying the feel of warm skin and the soft pulse of blood beating in time to the heart of the man himself. 

"Jack," he moans, his eyes fluttering from the growing stimulation. Now granted, I can be a bit of a bastard at times, but even I know when not to push. Both of us are about ready to explode here and the time for teasing was now officially past. I lean over and kiss Daniel sharply, savoring the softness of his lips as he responds instinctively to my touch and then I pull away and position myself above him. Then slowly and oh so carefully I impale myself on his erect, weeping cock. He gasps at the sensation as I take him inside and OK, I admit, so do I. Oh yeah, this feels **so** good. 

I continue to slide down until Daniel is buried balls deep in my ass. I hold for long moments gazing down at Daniel's face, enjoying the wide eyed expression of surprise and delight and then I begin to move, raising myself up and then lowering myself back down on his cock. I brace myself against his raised knees, enjoying the feel of Daniel inside of me. This too had been a revelation the first time, but like rimming, it was one I embraced whole-heartedly. Boy, did I ever! For a while I was enjoying it a bit too much, in fact and Daniel got all pouty and annoyed and accused me of hogging the bottom spot. Moi? OK, so I'm a pushy, greedy bottom. Bite me. Eventually we just agreed to trade off the top and bottom positions. After all, there are plenty of orgasms to go around in these here parts! 

Although this position can be a bit rough on the old knees at times, I have to say, it has other compensations. I have a clear view of Daniel's face and I can see every expression flickering across those mobile features. I let my hands roam across his chest, enjoying the feel of smooth, sweaty flesh beneath my fingertips. Clearly Daniel has decided to disregard his previous "no touching" rule since he doesn't make a peep when I let my fingers do the walking. A groan, and maybe the occasional whimper, but no peeps. 

I shift my body slightly twisting my hips against his looking for...yep, there it is, Jack's happy button. Hey there, old buddy! I angle myself so that Daniel's cock nails it on every down stroke. Oh baby! Pretty soon we're both moaning and groaning to raise the roof and I know we're almost there. I quicken the pace, grinding myself against him and then I feel it. Daniel cries out my name, sobbing his pleasure as his hands clench around the bed sheets and orgasm tears through his trembling body. I come right behind him, a hoarse scream of "Daniel!" torn from my lips as I climax and I splatter myself across Daniel's chest. 

I lean back against Daniel's knees, gasping for air and then raise myself up from his now spent cock. Fortunately, I retain enough presence of mind to collapse on to the bed at his side rather than directly on top of him. While the sweat stains might get a raised eyebrow from the laundry service, I really wouldn't want to have to explain come stains as well. Could be just a tad embarrassing, ya know? 

I lie there on my back, giving my heart a chance to calm down before tugging at my tie and the buttons of my jacket and shirt. I finally manage to wrestle myself free and toss the whole sweaty, smelly mess in a pile on the floor. I'll worry about it tomorrow. For now, I roll over towards the center of the bed once more and the equally sweaty, smelly presence of my Spacemonkey. 

"Hey," I offer. 

His eyes flutter open and he gives me his dopiest, most sated smile, my reward for a job well hung...I mean done. "Hey Jack," he replies, his voice soft and drowsy. 

"You good?" 

"Yeah," he says before a yawn interrupts. "I'm good. You?" 

"Me?" I ask. "I'm great." And that is the God's honest truth. 

Daniel smiles again. "Modest," he snorts softly. 

I chuckle at that as I pull him into my arms and snuggle against his warm, sticky body. "Hey, ya got it, use it. 'Sides, I've never heard any complaints." 

He yawns again and wriggles a little closer. The little colonel gives a flicker of interest before deciding that maybe a little nap first might be a good thing. After all, Danny is a growing boy and he needs his rest, right? 

"No c'plaints," he assures me as he drifts off, a gentle smile on his lips. I lean over and place a soft kiss on his forehead and watch as his breathing evens out, reflecting that I am one hell of a cook. The Iron Chef has **nothing** on me. 

"Now this is my idea of a Happy Meal," I whisper into his hair before following my darling little plat du jour into slumber.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Jack has been asleep for a while now, so I don't think I'll wake him if I write in my journal for a bit. I haven't had much time to write in it recently since Jack has been working so diligently to keep me distracted. Yes, Jack was indulging in another rousing round of "let's wind up Daniel and watch him go," which apparently is Jack's favorite sport when hockey is no longer in season. Its not that I mind, per se, but it is hard to get any work done when he's playing this particular game. 

Poor Jack. He thinks he's being so clever and underhanded, but he invariably gives it away every time. Whenever Jack shows signs of regressing into fidgety teenager mode, I know its coming. The moment he walks into my office with a yo-yo or the paddle with a ball attached to it by an elastic string, or in this case a Tootsie Pop, I know the game is afoot. I always play along, of course. After all, it makes Jack so happy to think that he has managed to outthink me for a change and I honestly can't say I'm adverse to the outcome. No, Jack and I are pretty much on the same page when it comes to the whole explosive sex thing. It's a pity I didn't get to hear the rest of Dr. Reiger's lecture, though; it really sounded interesting but in the end it couldn't hold a candle to sex with Jack. 

I'll have to remember to add the academic lecture scenario to my ongoing list of ways to get Jack in the sack, as it were. 

Hmm...maybe someday I can even publish the findings. I think I'll call it "101 Ways to Get an Air Force Colonel to Seduce an Oh So Willing Archeologist." I'm sure it would be a best seller and would make for a hell of a cookbook. Of course, if anyone ever read it, I'd have to shoot them, now wouldn't I? I guess I'll keep my research-and my colonel--to myself. And with any luck, I'll have a few new recipes to add to **my** cookbook. 

Betty Crocker, eat your heart out.


End file.
